Reflexionem
by Isefyr
Summary: When Draco first came across the Mirror of Erised, he had no idea what it was, but after what it showed him, he was determined to find out. And who better to ask than the brightest witch of her age? (AU, EWE)
1. Chapter 1

**1**

As an eleven-year-old boy (who some might less-than-fondly refer to as a prat) Draco was far more interested in selfish pursuits than any sort of personal growth. He tormented those he felt were beneath him (see: Potter and co.), demanded what he felt he deserved, and did not question the way of the world as taught to him by his parents.

So when he was out after dark, stumbling around the library, it wasn't because he was looking for enlightenment or even answers to his homework- no, it was so that he could tear some pages out of one of the required texts for History of Magic, hoping to irritate or at least hinder Granger, Potter's bushy-haired know-it-all friend.

Unfortunately for Draco, he was less than silent, having just recently gone through a growth spurt. So, when he tripped and fell into one of the bookshelves, his mission to harass Granger was hastily aborted at the sound of Filch's approaching feet.

Ducking away and sneaking into the shadows, Draco decided that it was easier to hide than run, and slid into a classroom, closing and locking the door behind him. He moved away from the door, then, backing up slowly until he backed into something solid, smooth, and definitely not desk-shaped.

He turned around (again, slowly) and examined what he'd bumped into. It was a mirror, a large one, with curling script around the top. He touched the surface of the mirror cautiously, feeling it slide beneath his fingers, and then stilled as he noticed what the mirror was reflecting.

It was him, of course, but he wasn't alone – his parents were there too, uncharacteristic smiles on their faces as they looked down at Draco adoringly. His mother knelt down and cuddled him, and his father met his eyes and mouthed the words, "I'm so proud of you".

Draco felt an ache start somewhere in his chest that he didn't quite understand. He turned around, but there was nobody there – just Draco, alone in the room, totally bewildered.

He didn't look at the mirror again. He just ran.

…

That summer, Draco did his best around the house. He didn't whine about things he wanted, he treated the house-elves well, and he listened attentively to his father at the dinner table. He wasn't sure what he was searching for, but occasionally the image in the mirror popped into his mind, and he felt that _ache_ again, threatening to burst through his chest.

After the first couple of weeks, his father stopped lecturing Draco at the dinner table (he saved his speeches for his study), and his mother asked if everything was alright, a note of concern in her voice, someone who's noticed the disturbance of her normal routine and just wants it to get back to normal.

Draco looked down at his shoes and mumbled something like "I just want you to be proud of me." Narcissa looked shocked and confused for a moment, but hesitantly smoothed Draco's hair back from his forehead, trying to convey something that she couldn't say. After a few moments of silence, Narcissa knelt down next to Draco and hugged him. Then, she stood, looked awkwardly down at her only child, and gave him a tremulous smile.

It wasn't the picture in the mirror, and it never would be, but Draco thought it was enough.

…

When Draco was thirteen, he found the mirror once more.

This time, he was stalking around the halls, _positive_ that Potter and his gang was up to _something_ and hell-bent on catching them do it. He wasn't quite sure why it was so important for him to catch them in the act, but it had been important enough for him to dodge curfew.

On his second lap of the fifth floor, he saw something shining through a cracked door. Positive that he'd caught them in the act (of what, he wasn't sure), he tiptoed to the door and flung it wide open dramatically, resulting in a loud slamming noise.

But nobody was there, just a long, empty room and the mirror.

Draco stopped in the door, perplexed, then realized that the loud slam of the door opening might have attracted attention, and hurried into the room, shutting the door behind him. Once it was locked, Draco turned his attention to the mirror. As if under a trance, he walked towards it, feeling as though he was being towed.

Standing before it, he noted that he was once more occupying its frame (as that is how mirrors, magical or not, _usually_ work), and he was, once more, not alone.

As soon as Draco comprehended the image, he jumped back with a yell.

"Merlin's pants!"

His company was none other than Potter and co. … _and they appeared to be best of friends._

Draco attempted to convince himself that the mirror was playing a joke on him. After all, there was no way that they'd become friends, nor did he _want_ them to become friends. Potter and his gang were Draco's nemeses. Draco repeated this helpful mantra until he'd calmed down somewhat, and then warily looked at the mirror once more.

The image hadn't changed. Draco took several deep breaths, staring at the mirror with a frown as Potter slung an arm around Draco while Granger laughed at something Draco said.

There had to be an explanation for this, and it had nothing to do with the return of the horrible ache in his chest.

…

For the next few weeks, Draco forgot to be horrible to Potter's gang, as he was too preoccupied by what he'd seen in the mirror. He'd look up to make a caustic comment in potions, and then remember the smiles on their faces in the mirror, and chicken out. Thankfully, though they seemed confused, they backed off as well, leaving Draco to think out his problem in peace.

He couldn't talk to Crabbe or Goyle about it, as they were remarkably thick, and admitting to any of his smarter housemates what, exactly, he had seen would be taken as a sign of weakness. But who could he ask?

"Oh, by the way, Professor," Draco muttered to himself while doing his Transfiguration homework, "I was wandering around after curfew, and I found this mirror…"

Nope. Not going to happen.

Ironically enough, the image in the mirror was how he thought of the solution to his problem.

Granger, the living book, would probably know what it was.

His only problem would be convincing her of his sincerity, but he'd always thought that she was the most …softhearted of the three, and he was willing to briefly overlook her Muggle roots if she could help him sleep at night.

So that was how he found himself in the library on lunch break, cautiously peering around a shelf at a tired-looking Granger, writing out an essay for one of her multitudinous classes.

He had convinced himself to step forward and chickened out about a dozen times when Granger finally spoke.

"If you're going to jump out at me, you should have done it ten minutes ago," she said without looking up from her books, pushing a curl of hair behind her ear. Draco jumped a little, and then peered around the shelf at her. How did one go about addressing one's sworn enemy?

"Er, me?" was the brilliant response he came up with.

"Yes, you," Granger replied, laying her quill down and looking up at him, primly folding her hands. "What do you want?"

"Um..." Draco scratched the back of his neck, nervously. "I wanted to ask for your help…researching… something?"

"And have you pour ink all over my essays when I have my back turned?" Granger asked sardonically, raising an eyebrow. It was an impressively scary expression, and Draco froze, wondering if it was just safer to back away.

Something about his posture must have convinced her, as Granger sighed, considered, tidied her notes, and shoved them safely into her bag before beckoning him closer. "What is it, Malfoy?" she asked, not unkindly.

Draco examined her carefully. When he was sure she wasn't going to attack, he sat across the table from her and started, trying to meet her eyes, "I found a mirror in the castle that I think was enchanted, and I want to figure out what it is and why it …shows… what it does."

Hermione didn't interrupt him, just sat listening attentively like she did in classes, and Draco instantly resolved never to mock her studiousness again. Other things, perhaps… like her ridiculous hair… but not her focus.

"Well," Granger said, considering the problem, "It's going to be difficult to figure out if you don't know what its name is. What does it look like?"

Draco ended up giving her a quick run-down of what the mirror looked like and the writing on top, though he didn't tell her what he saw in it. Hermione nodded and made a couple notes, then gave him a hesitant smile. "I'll look up a couple resources for you, if you like. But you have to do something for me in return."

"…what?" Draco said warily, watching her like she was going to bite.

"Be nice to Harry and Ron for two weeks," she said firmly, a half smile curling up her cheek. "And I don't mean _ignoring_ them. Be _nice_."

Draco almost choked on his tongue, but agreed, anything to get rid of the ache in his chest. However, as soon as she left the library he slammed his head on the desk. These were going to be the worst two weeks of his life.

…

The first week went by pretty much uneventfully, as Draco suddenly remembered all the homework that he had to do. He spent much of his time in the library (where Potter and Weasley rarely ventured unless forced) and the Slytherin Common Room, where none of the Gryffindor bunch could venture. Granger raised her eyebrows at him wherever he went, but he wasn't being _mean_ to them, just… wasn't talking to them. It was, really, a vast improvement on the last two years. You could _almost_ count it as being nice.

However, this method of avoidance didn't last him for long, as one afternoon in the library Draco looked up from his book (Famous Enchanted Artifacts) to see three Gryffindors: one looking very smug, and the other two bearing expressions which Draco wasn't sure if they were curious or skeptical.

Granger (Draco called her something rather less than nice in his head) elbowed Weasley, who had a box under one arm. The redhead cleared his throat, and delivered a line that sounded like it had been rehearsed many times.

"Would you like to play a game of chess?"

Draco barely prevented his jaw from dropping to the floor, and glared at Hermione. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Draco wondered why on earth she wasn't in Slytherin.

But, he had asked for her help, so he replied in an equally careful tone, "Sure, Weasley."

The two male Gryffindors looked somewhat taken aback, but Draco had to give Weasley credit- his eyes sparked at the idea of a game, and he sat down across from Draco and started to set up the board. The other two members of the Golden Trio sat down next to them to watch, and in Potter's case, make unhelpful comments.

Draco sent Hermione one final scathing look before settling in to focus on the game.

(Weasley won, but only _just_ )

…

Thankfully, after that interlude, Hermione let the rest of the week pass without comment. Draco met her in the library feeling considerably more light-hearted, hoping that today he was going to discover the mystery of the mirror.

However, when Hermione showed up, he was to be disappointed. She was carrying a large stack of books, none of which looked likely to solve his problem, and had circles under her eyes that looked deeper than the Mariana Trench. He'd known that she'd taken on more classes than was humanly possible this year, but really, this was ridiculous.

Draco stepped back into the bookshelves, suddenly deciding to hide himself. He pulled out _Hogwarts: A History_ from its spot on the shelf and started to read, not sure why he wasn't angry or why he was staying.

Hermione worked, and worked, and worked, and fell asleep over an essay. Draco put his book back, finished, and walked over to her, noting that she hadn't finished Snape's homework for the next day.

For reasons unknown to even himself, Draco finished the essay for her, reasoning that if she burned herself out, she couldn't help him. Then, he tidied up her books, pulled her cloak over top of her shoulders, and left her a note.

 _No rush on the mirror. Get some rest._

 _P.S. I'm not playing chess with Weasley again. I swear he cheats._

…

Hermione tried to apologize profusely to Draco, who told her it was no big deal. The strangeness of the situation was beginning to dawn on him, as never in a million years would his 11-year-old self have forgiven any of the Golden Trio for their transgressions, however minor.

It was all that damn mirror's fault, Draco thought, and threw armadillo bile in his cauldron instead of crushed lavender.

Walking to the Great Hall after the lesson, Draco caught sight of Crabbe and Goyle out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't been spending as much time with them recently, preferring to talk to Nott or Zabini, which was why he was surprised to see Goyle with his wand out, about to hex Potter from behind. He could have sworn that Goyle didn't have two thoughts to rub together, let alone the ability to try to curse someone under his own steam.

Draco pulled out his wand automatically, responding to the presence of Potter and Goyle's threatening figure. He wasn't sure what he was going to do, but he wanted to be ready.

Goyle raised his wand a little higher, opening his mouth, and Draco did something that he never expected to do.

He hexed first – _at Goyle_.

Goyle howled, dropped his wand and clutched his face, Crabbe turning to his aid. Potter and his gang entered the Great Hall none the wiser, and Draco turned around, no longer hungry and totally stunned at himself.

Instead, he marched up to the hospital wing and demanded that Madam Pomfrey check to make sure he wasn't ill, poisoned, or cursed.

He wasn't.

…

It took a couple of weeks, but Draco managed to convince himself that he'd just been teaching Goyle a lesson for trying to hex someone in the back. Slytherins might not be brave, but they shouldn't be _vicious_ , he told himself.

Finally, partway through the spring term, Draco marched into the library, sat across from Hermione, and asked without preamble: "Have you figured out the mirror yet?"

Granger looked up from her papers and raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you too."

"I've been patient," Draco defended himself. "I just… need to know."

Granger rolled her eyes, and pulled a book out of her back. "I found this a few weeks ago, but you've been avoiding me," she said with an accusatory glance.

"It's not like we're best buddies, Granger," Draco said. "And I haven't been _mean_ to you or your pals, which I think you should appreciate."

In truth, he'd thought that perhaps Granger was the reason he was acting so weird, putting ideas of being _nice_ to Potter and Weasley into his head. Not speaking to her was, he decided, the only solution to be freed from whatever she'd done to him.

Hermione sighed and pushed the book across the table to him. Underlined were two different entries on the same page – _Important Magical Mirrors._

Draco read both entries carefully. One of them showed the viewer scenes from their past, so Draco could eliminate that one pretty easily. He skimmed that entry, and went down to the other one.

 _Mirror of Erised._

He read the entry, and then blanched at what it said. _The Mirror of Erised shows the viewer the deepest desire of their heart. The image may change over time, but is no less true than the first time the viewer stands before it._

Pushing it back at Hermione, he tried to keep his voice steady. The ache was back, and he felt a little bit sick.

"Thanks," he managed weakly, before running off to the Slytherin Common room to try to comprehend what the Mirror had shown him.

…

He was sure that Granger must be totally perplexed as to his behavior, but he couldn't much bring himself to care; the realization that the deepest desire of his heart, apparently, was to be friends with the Golden Trio, (or whatever else the image meant…unfortunately, Draco couldn't think of an alternative) had shaken him and he absolutely refused to interact with them. Maybe it would go away.

Despite the fact that he had classes with the three of them (read: the most uncomfortable hours of Draco's life), he decided to pull off the Herculean task of Never Speaking to Them Again. Considering that he used to only trade insults and sneer across the Great Hall at them, it wasn't hard to hide behind Crabbe and Goyle's bulk and avoid them in the hallways… or so he thought.

Now that he _didn't_ want to have anything to do with them, they were _everywhere_. Potter was in the Great Hall, eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Weasley would be right next to him while feeding Flobberworms in Care of Magical Creatures. And Hermione was everywhere – the library, the halls, the grounds… he couldn't escape.

(sometimes, his traitor brain would ask him if he really wanted to)

The Slytherins were curious, but didn't ask- they weren't exactly a bunch to talk about their feelings. The only comment that Blaise offered was that Draco's marks had improved, which Draco took as approval, and Crabbe and Goyle refused to speak to him, which was a bonus.

After a few years of non-stop rivalry, even the professors had picked up on the weird tension. Draco was stopped by Professor Snape and even _Hagrid_ , of all people, both of them asking if everything was alright (well, Snape asked if 'whatever it was' would affect Draco's performance in his class, but Draco knew what he meant).

He managed his amazing balancing act until the end of third year, just as they were on the train. Hermione marched into his compartment and stood there, hands on her hips, impervious to the stunned stares of Nott and Zabini. Her eyebrow raised, threateningly, and Draco looked back at her with lost, confused eyes.

It must have meant _something_ to her, because she nodded once, turned on her heel and left.

…

Next year on the train back to Hogwarts, Draco was no closer to figuring out if what the Mirror of Erised had shown him _should_ or _did_ mean anything to him. However, the break had refreshed him – he hadn't had to dodge the Gryffindors for months, and he was feeling rested and ready to resume his normal course of action regarding the trio: demonstrative disdain.

That plan was shot to bits when Draco passed their compartment, returning from the loo. He would have hurried by, but he caught his name: "… if Malfoy's going to…"

Curiosity peaked; he ducked out of sight, pressing an ear to the panel. The hall was empty, thank Merlin, so he was free to eavesdrop without judgment. He tuned in to Potter commenting, "I wouldn't trust him. Whatever was going on last year, I'm sure he'll come back with his usual set of insults."

Draco raised an eyebrow, opened his mouth to comment, and then realized that they couldn't see him.

"I dunno," Weasley said, sounding uncomfortable. "He did ask for Hermione's help, and you'd think that he wouldn't have anything to do with a muggleborn."

Draco nodded at this obvious character reference, but Potter snorted in disdain. "And then after she gave it, he avoided her! And us!"

"Are you complaining?" Hermione asked, amused. "He could have hexed us instead."

"Maybe it's character growth," Weasley mused, mouth full.

"Maybe it's a plot," Potter retorted.

"Maybe the two of you should try not to antagonize him, see where that goes," Granger suggested gently, a curious tone to her voice. Draco wished he could see her expression.

"Him first," Potter said. Draco rolled his eyes at this obvious piece of immaturity and crawled away.

He did wonder, though, about that conversation, and at their expectations of him. He'd never expected Weasley to defend him. Granger, yes, because she was a softhearted kind of person, but Weasley?

Until he figured out what to do with this information, he decided, he would be magnanimous and keep his thoughts, and curses, to himself. After all, maybe it _was_ character growth.

…

A month into the new rotation of classes, homework, and weird non-confrontational meetings in the halls, Draco found the Mirror again.

It was after a particularly late Quidditch practice – Draco was determined to catch that bloody Snitch this time – when he dodged into a room to hide from approaching footsteps. Ear pressed to the door, trying not to breathe, he saw a flash out of the corner of his eye, behind him.

He turned, slowly, not sure what to expect. A ghost? Dumbledore? What he did not expect was to see the Mirror of Erised looming in the background, surface shining innocently with the promise of knowledge.

Draco froze in place for one moment, staring at the mirror, wondering briefly what it would show him. Then he remembered what it showed him last time, and how it was slowly but surely ruining his life and driving him insane (an exaggeration, maybe, but only a _bit_ ).

He opened the door to run –

-and flung himself into the waiting clutches of Filch.

Life just had it out for him, Draco mused miserably as he scrubbed cauldrons, weeks later.

…

Christmas at Hogwarts Castle was always – no pun intended – magical. Draco decided to stay because sitting in a suit across from his parents and making awkward conversation was not his idea of a good holiday, and stuffing himself at the feast and enjoying the decorations in the Great Hall was.

Also, this year they were having a Yule Ball.

The night thereof, Draco found himself dressed in his best dress robes, trying to decide whether fluffing his hair in front or slicking it back would be most attractive. Unfortunately, he would never find out, as Blaise informed him that they would be late for the start of the Ball, and so he had to leave his hair as – is.

At least it wouldn't be a mess like Granger's was sure to be, he thought smugly, an illusion that was promptly shattered by the Golden Trio's entrance to the Ball. He would have thought _couldn't you give me one second of glory?_ if he was able to think anything at all; as it was, something prickled uncomfortably in his stomach at the sight of Granger, all dolled up in periwinkle blue.

She was being escorted by the two buffoons she called friends, and Draco was dismayed to note that even Potter's hair was relatively flat. Really, the entire evening was a waste, now.

He remembered that he wasn't supposed to care about Potter and Company a moment too late, giving a resigned sigh.

The Trio swept by Malfoy with their usual assessing glance, and moved on once they'd determined that, like the rest of the year, he was no threat. Soon after, the Ball began, and as Draco was taken in hand by one of the Greengrass girls, he determined to forget about them and simply enjoy himself.

And he did! After all, Draco was a handsome young lad, and while the girls weren't lining up to dance with him, he never lacked for partners. There was good music and good food and everyone looked happy, and Draco took a break from dancing to lean against the refreshments table and take it all in.

A curious scene, then, unfolded in front of him, as he leaned against the table. The Golden Trio wasn't far off, Weasley and Granger watching Potter like mother hens as the Chosen Dunce blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, presumably asking the dark-haired girl in front of him to dance.

Disgusted, as Draco didn't particularly want to be enlightened as to Potter's love life, nor see women fawning over him, he was startled when the girl laughed, high and shrill, and said loud enough for everyone to hear that she didn't want to dance with _him._

Draco's mouth dropped open, and Potter flushed red and mumbled something before returning to Weasley and Granger, who both looked murderously at the girl. Weasley looked like he wanted to curse her, but Granger grabbed his arm, and they both accepted Potter with comforting arms.

Something twanged in Draco's chest once more at the sight – pity? Envy? And he took a sip of his punch to distract himself. The girl turned slightly, and he spotted her as Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw seeker. Pretty enough, but apparently, not a Potter fan.

Pushing the incident out of his mind, as it was a bit of an uncomfortable feeling for Draco to sympathize with Potter, he scanned the floor, hoping to find Daphne for another dance. Spotting her at a table not too far from the solemn Golden Trio, who were in quiet conference, he put down his glass and started to weave through the crowd.

He was almost there when a dark-haired girl circumvented his path, holding her hand out. He stopped, perplexed, eyes traveling from the hand up the golden robes to the smug face of Cho Chang. Behind her, the Golden Trio had frozen expectantly, but to Draco it felt as though the entire room had stopped to hold its breath.

"Draco," she said in a familiar tone, though they'd barely ever spoken beyond the Quidditch pitch, "Shall we dance?"

Draco cocked his head, considering her. She was pretty, and smart, and good at Quidditch, and that should have been enough – but, unbidden, the image of her sneer rose in front of him. It was rather familiar, that sneer, and Draco didn't like the feeling.

So, he pulled a smirk onto his face and said, without quite knowing why, "I'm sorry, I don't want to dance with _you._ "

The room started moving again, as Cho froze with her hand out, unable to miss the emphasis behind his words. He bowed his head politely and moved around her towards Daphne, floating by the perplexed faces of Potter and Weasley, and the pleased (?) face of one Hermione Granger.

And so, that was how it was that later, when the song changed to something like a waltz, Draco found himself tapped on the shoulder by Miss Granger, asking him for a dance.

He accepted.

…

After the Yule ball, feeling pleasantly fuzzy and unusually predisposed to like the world, Draco took a wrong turning to the common room and ended up in a room he'd never been in before. It was warm, homely, and had the Mirror of Erised standing smack in the middle of it.

Instead of running, though, Draco felt an odd surge of courage (probably brought on by his good mood). He felt focused, mind clear, calmer than he'd been since he'd seen the Mirror in his first year.

So, he stepped forward.

He took a moment to center himself just right, planting his feet and standing tall as if to face an enemy. Posture straight, head tilted, he breathed in, and looked at the Mirror.

The only sound in the room was a long exhale and his beating heart, as he saw himself, still in his Yule finery, once more with the Golden Trio. They, too, were in their dress clothes, smiling and laughing as they'd been with each other at the Ball – but with one difference. This time, they were with him.

He wasn't shocked. The year of denial and avoidance had faded into background noise, and he made eye contact with each of the trio – Potter, Weasley, _Granger_ – in turn, acknowledging them in the Mirror. For some reason, they didn't feel like enemies, not any more.

Draco wasn't sure what they were, now, but as he turned slowly away from the mirror, he decided to find out.

…

Thus began what he was sure was the most perplexing month in Gryffindor history.

The Gryffindor – Slytherin match had been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances (read: the Slytherin Captain had contracted a mysterious illness) and now, after the Yule Ball, it was all set to happen. Not having won a match against Potter since Second Year, Draco felt a bit resigned. After all, he could out-fly the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, but Slytherin's team was a bit too… thick… to out-fly Gryffindor. It pained him to admit it, and usually he mouthed off about Gryffindor's bloodlines or wit or something, but not today. Today, Draco was turning over a new leaf.

20 minutes into the match, it was very clear to Draco that Slytherin was not going to win. The Gryffindor Chaser team moved as one, and unless Draco could get the Snitch, Slytherin had already lost. Flying high above everyone, Draco spotted Potter go into a dive, and reacted without thinking, plummeting after him with determination.

The stadium was on their feet as Draco spiraled after Potter, gaining on him rather easily. In fact, they were neck-and-neck, and Draco could easily shove Potter to the side, kick his broom, and grab the Snitch.

But he didn't.

Instead of resorting to foul play, Draco feinted, attempting to grab the Snitch under Potter's nose. He did his best, but –

He missed.

Sighing lightly and slowing, he watched Potter do a victory lap and turned his own broom to the ground. He felt oddly light, for someone who'd just lost, and when the Gryffindor team sank to the pitch, he strode across the ground to shake Potter's hand.

Funnily enough, the shocked expressions on Potter's teammates' faces were almost as good as they would have been if Slytherin had won. Potter merely looked bemused, but replied "good game" nonetheless, and Draco walked back to the locker rooms feeling proud.

…

His next attempt to become a better person was in Potions. Draco normally sat at a table with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy, set a bit away from the Golden Trio and Neville. It used to be a perfect distance for sneering, but now, it afforded an opportunity for his next good deed.

Longbottom was a disaster at Potions. It might have been because Snape loathed him, or it might have been because he was clumsy – Draco didn't know, and he wasn't predisposed to wonder about the minutiae of Longbottom's life. Draco, on the other hand, was rather good at Potions – he didn't do well _just_ because Snape liked him. Snape suffered no fools.

Today, they were creating a Cure for Migraines, which wasn't actually that difficult if you weren't, you know, _thick_. Or Potionally Challenged, if that was the correct term. Regardless, Draco could already see that Longbottom was nervous, hands trembling a little as he chopped up lavender.

Glancing up at Snape, Draco was disquieted to see that he was watching Neville with a hawk-like glare. "You will hand in vials of your potion when it's done, for marking," the Professor said apropos of nothing, and Neville squeaked and nearly chopped his fingertip off. "And no helping Longbottom, Miss Granger," the teacher said smoothly before sweeping to the other end of the room.

Unknowingly, Snape had helped Draco's next Good Deed gain fruition. Though he watched Hermione with a hawk-like eye, he did no such thing with Draco. Thus, when Neville tried to chop newt eyes, only to have them slide around (one flew off the table), Draco saw his chance.

Standing to head to the ingredients counter, he paused behind Neville and picked up the newt eye, placing it on the desk next to him. "You know, you can mash them with the flat of the blade," he offered. When Neville jumped and looked up at Draco with wide eyes, he offered the other boy a friendly smile and proceeded to pick up some goldenrod from the counter.

Sitting down with his goldenrod, he watched as Neville examined the newt's eyes suspiciously, and then looked up at Hermione to check. She, however, was busy searching through her own bag, and Potter and Weasley merely looked bemused. Longbottom took a deep breath, squished some of the eyes, and then added the correct amount to his off-colour cauldron.

As Draco knew it would, it turned the correct colour instantly. Neville glanced at Draco, who mimed stirring clockwise and smiled before turning to his own work, smirking at Potter's furrowed brow.

Weasley, however, merely looked thoughtful, and Hermione glanced at Neville's successful potion and smiled.

…

After those first two good deeds, the Golden Trio no longer ignored Draco – instead, they watched him curiously, from afar, as if they were watching some exotic animal in a zoo – too dangerous to get close. Feeling a bit affronted but still determined – never let it be said that Slytherins weren't ambitious – Draco continued to be polite and helpful, much like any other student. He held doors, nodded to professors, and even helped a small Hufflepuff find their missing cat. Through it all, the Trio whispered and watched, making Draco feel very much as though he was on probation.

His third good deed was different – it was requested of him.

Weasley found Draco in the library, working diligently on his Transfiguration essay. Draco didn't notice him standing by the table until he'd finished his paragraph and looked up to find the tall redhead standing there holding a stack of books. He blinked in surprise, opened his mouth to give a customary caustic comment, and then remembered that he was trying for character growth. He settled for a greeting. "Weasley."

"Malfoy," the redhead replied. Then he gestured to a chair. "Can I sit?"

Draco blinked again, looking around the library to see why on earth the other boy would want to sit at Draco's table. There were other spots – whole tables, in fact - free, and Draco felt something suspiciously like hope bubble in his stomach. "Sure," he replied casually. "Go right ahead."

What was more astounding – Weasley actually _did_.

Conversation was apparently not required, so Draco went back to his essay, scratching out lines on willpower, wand motions and wizardry and wondering why one-third of the Golden Trio had decided to sit at his table. Was it a test? Was it a prank? Was it… being friendly?

Weasley cleared his throat and Draco looked up, quickly. "Hey, did you do the essay for Charms?" the other boy asked nonchalantly. Draco blinked again.

"Yeah, just finished," he finally replied, searching through his own stack of papers to find it. "Half a foot on the Banishing Charm, right?"

Weasley nodded. "Do you remember what Flitwick said about its origins? I haven't been able to find it."

This was _surreal_ , Draco mused. He looked down at his own essay, considered, then outlined the brief history of the Banishing Charm as Weasley nodded and took notes.

When that was done, the two of them returned to their separate work, not speaking another word until the period ended and they went their separate ways. Regardless, as Weasley gave him a courteous nod and walked towards Gryffindor tower, Draco felt like he'd just passed some kind of test, and returned to the Slytherin common room with a spring in his step.

…

It was nearing the end of the year, now, and Draco felt as though he had grown mightily over the last five months. The Golden Trio nodded at him in the halls, spoke to him in the classes they shared like they would for any other student, and no longer glared at him suspiciously. Draco's professors had taken to complimenting him in class, due to his renewed studiousness, and at the end of his Ancient Runes exam, Professor Babbling had told him that he'd earned 107%. Best, the curious ache in his chest that had been present for _years_ seemed to have relaxed somewhat.

Thus, the day after their Transfiguration exam, Draco was sitting in the front courtyard with the sunlight on his face, feeling content and at peace, when some buffoon had to get between him and his sunlight. Cracking an eyelid, he noted that it was Crabbe and Goyle, and that they didn't look at all pleased.

"You're blocking my sun," he informed them, closing his eyes again. "Something you need?"

Whatever the response he expected, it wasn't the response he got. He felt a large, hammy fist grab the front of his shirt, pulling him to his feet. Draco yelled and smacked at the hand, stepping back from the two of them in shock. "What was that?" he asked, furiously.

"You're different," grunted Goyle, standing to the side with a perplexed expression.

Draco raised an eyebrow, pushing Crabbe's hand away from him and noting uneasily that his hand was half the size of the other Slytherin's. He didn't comment.

"You're spending too much time with other Houses," Crabbe growled. "Slytherins…" he paused, probably trying to put the next few words into an understandable sentence.

"Nowhere in history does it say that Slytherins _have_ to be total prats," Draco snapped. "Nor that we should be cruel to other Houses. We protect our own, yes, but that doesn't mean we have to _hex others_."

This speech took a moment to pass their thick skulls, but the two part- _trolls_ seemed unperturbed.

"Stop being nice to Potter," threatened Goyle, "Or.."

"Or else!" Crabbe said triumphantly, cracking his knuckles.

Draco's desire to get out of this situation peacefully vanished in about 10 seconds flat.

"Look, I'm sorry that the two of you believed the shite that I spouted when I was eleven," he informed them, "But grow up a little. Just as I don't get to tell you what choices to make any more, _you don't get to tell me._ " The two of them frowned, but Draco didn't give them time to respond. He didn't notice the three students coming up behind him, listening. "I'm not the one with the incorrect concept of Slytherins. You are. And you're giving us a bad name. So leave." Draco stepped forward menacingly. "Me." He stepped again, and they flinched. "Alone."

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, raised their fists, and froze at a piercing yell. "Mr. Crabbe! Mr. Goyle!"

Professor McGonagall was entering the courtyard, raising a deadly eyebrow. "And Mr. Malfoy," she said, sizing up the situation. Draco looked 'round and saw the Golden Trio behind him, wands out, and groaned inwardly. Great. She probably thought he was threatening them…now he was going to get detention .

"Miss Granger, what is going on?" McGonagall inquired.

Draco sighed.

"Crabbe and Goyle were threatening Malfoy," Hermione said promptly.

McGonagall opened her mouth, blinked, furrowed her brow, and then tried again. "As noble as the three of you were to come to his defense, there will be no hexing other students on the grounds," she said dryly. " _Or_ physical altercations, gentlemen," she added to Crabbe and Goyle, freezing them with an icy glare. "I'll be mentioning this to your Head of House. _Try_ to stay out of trouble."

She swept away, and Crabbe and Goyle skulked after her. Malfoy watched them go with a glare, then glanced back at the Golden Trio.

"Draco," Potter said with a nod, and they went on their way.

…

In retrospect, perhaps Draco was a bit too optimistic to expect the Gryffindors to welcome him with open arms after their first couple of years at Hogwarts. At least they didn't consider him Public Enemy Number 1 any more, he mused as he climbed aboard the train leaving Hogwarts. He chose a compartment with Blaise and Theo, deliberately stepping on Goyle's foot on the way.

Watching Hogwarts move away from them, Draco leaned back into his seat with a sigh. Blaise, watching him with an indecipherable expression, remarked, "There's always next year," and Draco looked at him in surprise.

"That there is," he acknowledged with a small smile, as the food trolley pulled up outside their door.

The remainder of the ride home was uneventful, with Draco, Blaise and Theo (and the Greengrass girls, who'd joined them partway through) chatting about their summers and other random things. Draco might have missed it during his crusade this year, but his Slytherin friends were a good bunch too, he realized, selecting a Chocolate Frog at random and rejoining the conversation with glee.

On the platform, they all bid each other farewell, waving and hugging goodbye before searching out their parents. Scanning the area for blond hair, Draco spun on one foot. Brunette… black… redhead… he blinked. The Golden Trio was standing in front of him.

"See you next year, mate," Weasley started, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Have a good summer," Potter added, waving at a lanky, long-haired man with tattoos before offering Draco a smile.

Hermione stepped in closer for a quick hug. "Bye for now," she added, and Draco started to smile.

"Have a good summer, you three," he replied, and hugged Hermione back.

END OF PART ONE

 **A/N:**

 **This fic was** _ **supposed**_ **to be short and poetic and more of a 5-times trope with the Mirror. It metamorphasized into this sort-of humorous, lengthy monster. I hope you enjoy it anyways! Part 2 will be up in the next couple of days.**

 **Just to make it clear –** _ **Reflexionem**_ **is set in an AU where Voldemort died in Godric's hollow. Thus, the timeline is vaguely equivalent to the books, but the happenings are completely different.**

 **Thanks for reading!**

 **Isefyr**


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

It was with not inconsiderable excitement that Draco Malfoy boarded the Hogwarts Express in his fifth year. Having achieved (well, he thought he'd achieved it anyways) his goal of becoming friends with the Golden Trio, he rather thought that this year would be a year to remember. Beside the fact that it was OWL year, which rather put a damper on the friend-related activities that he and the Trio could possibly partake in.

Hauling his trunk behind him in search of a compartment with friends, Draco spotted Blaise reclining in a compartment on his own. He didn't bother knocking, just walked in, and throwing his trunk up on top of the rails easily. (He'd grown taller, and was rather pleased with the results.)

Sitting down across from his friend, Draco offered a friendly smile. "Glad to be going back?" he offered, knowing that Blaise usually spent his summer in an empty house while his mother was off gadding about. Blaise nodded and returned the question, and the two of them slipped into easy conversation as the train pulled from the station.

There was laughter outside, and the door slid open, framing the Golden Trio. Draco gawked, then smiled at them tentatively, curious as to why they were there.

"Mind if we join you?" Potter asked easily. Hermione poked him in the side and he shot her a glance before elaborating, "The other compartments are full of first years and other undesirable characters."

Did that mean that they were desirable characters, or ranked just a bit above undesirable? Draco glanced at Blaise, who shrugged, then turned back to the group. "Come on in," he said cheerfully, still getting used to the idea that the Golden Trio would want to socialize with him. He stood to help Hermione with her trunk, and then the four of them settled into the compartment once more.

It was momentarily quiet, before Hermione broke the silence. "So, OWLs," she said, turning to the lot of them. "Have any of you already started revision? I only managed to do a little bit last year, which is deplorable –"

Harry groaned, and Blaise in his seat by the window gave a little smirk.

"I'm serious!" Hermione said indignantly. "These are important exams, we can't just _skive off_ like we usually do, and that means _you two_ ," she said, pointing imperiously at Harry and Ron, who were trying to hold back snickers. "If you don't take it seriously, I'll go study with Draco and the two of you can do your _own_ homework," Hermione declared, sitting back in her seat with a 'hmmph!'

This idea sounded rather appealing to Draco, but the two boys let out loud groans and protests. Blaise cackled in the corner. "I always knew that you were the mastermind behind the group," he told Hermione with glee that was probably derived from learning that Potter and Weasley didn't do homework. Hermione smiled, Draco threw a grateful look at Blaise, and Weasley turned to Blaise and Draco and asked, "Do either of you pay attention in History of Magic?"

In short, it was the best train ride Draco had in his life.

…

As it turned out, perhaps Hermione had had the right of it. The Professors, obviously aware that their OWLs were approaching, had upped the ante, with homework and revision due every few days and minor tests. McGonagall and Snape, in particular, were ruthless in their pursuit of perfect students, and Draco found himself studying rather late.

The group that had convened on the train, with the addition of Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass (who professed a tentative interest in making nice with the Gryffindors, to Draco's surprise) formed a study group to survive the oncoming year. Hermione was at the head of the pack, of course, but Draco prided himself in being no slouch, and Nott and Greengrass were rather studious as well. (When they weren't staring into each other's eyes longingly).

After the third time that Madam Pince sidled by their table, ostensibly to check that they weren't hexing each other, Draco raised an eyebrow at the woman and she scuttled off, muttering things about 'possessed' and 'tell the headmaster'. Hermione, editing Ron and Blaise's Charms essays simultaneously, elbowed Draco in the side and murmured, "Take pity on the poor woman. We are _rather_ a sensation."

Draco chuckled, once again amazed that the Trio had let him get so close to them – no small part of that due to Hermione's faith in him. True, there were moments where their ingrained mistrust got the better of them, and there were moments where the Slytherin group forgot the principle of House Unity, but for the most part, their friendship was strengthening. Surprisingly, Draco found his friendships within his own House strengthening as well, as he learned that his fellow snakes had good qualities of their own. Far from being ashamed and regretful of being in Slytherin, Draco was proud of it.

Lost in his musings, he didn't notice that he'd let his essay trail off into gibberish, and sighed with frustration at his inky hand that was no longer able to hold a quill. Across from him, Daphne and Theo had their heads together, working on a project for Muggle Studies, and Draco massaged his hand as he watched their heads bump and the two of them apologize in whispers.

"How long do you think it'll take them to get together?" he mused to the community at large – the two of them were oblivious. Harry looked up with a calculating eye at the pair and said, "Two weeks," giving Draco a grin. Blaise considered them with a shake of his head and said "Three months, unless we intervene."

Ron, who hadn't been doing any work at all, asked quizzically, "They're _not_ together?" Hermione snorted and crossed out a line on his essay, sharing a look with Draco as if to convey her opinion of Ron's emotional sensitivity, and the rest of the group laughed.

Madam Pince swooped down triumphantly with "No raucous laughter in the library!", but the seven of them were too pleased with life (despite the surplus of homework) to care.

…

That set the pattern for their days; the Gryffindor trio and Slytherin Quartet merging to form a Christmas-coloured band of friends. Draco, who had opened the door, was inordinately pleased when he saw Daphne and Hermione giggling over something, or Harry and Theodore playing a game of Exploding Snap. He was sure that if he returned to the Mirror it would now have changed once more, as he had achieved his heart's desire.

Sometimes he idly wondered what it would show him now, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to return. The last time had brought on such an emotional upheaval that Draco wasn't sure he wanted to experience now, when he was so happy. Still, it was at the back of his mind, as it was truly the reason that he was here, studying in the library with Hermione leaning on his shoulder sleepily and Harry and Ron across from them, arguing Quidditch.

He'd never told them what had changed his behavior – he chose to keep it private, and they'd never asked him why he'd had such a complete turnaround, choosing not to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth.

Hermione had mentioned it once. She'd remarked how glad she was that they were friends, and that she was pleased that Draco had grown up. It had a questioning tone to it, but Draco merely grinned at her and said that he wasn't quite grown up yet, tickling her in the side mercilessly. The subject had been dropped, and Hermione had since resorted to other forms of subterfuge to find out what had happened – interrogating his friends.

"So, any more trouble with Crabbe and Goyle?" she asked artlessly of Blaise one day, who patted her on the head and told her not to meddle.

"It was sure a turn-around for Draco in third year," she remarked to Theodore in the middle of a discussion on Ancient Runes. Theo nodded and said, "I think it's been good for everyone, don't you?" and returned to analyzing a translation in Elder Futhark.

"Does Draco ever confide in you?" she asked Daphne, who giggled and said, "Hermione, if there's something you want to ask him, just _ask_. We can double," she added, wiggling her eyebrows at the brunette, who blushed redder than a tomato and stuttered out that wasn't what she meant. Draco, told of this exchange (what did you expect? They were still _Slytherins_ ) felt a curious lightness in his chest, but high-fived Daphne for successfully curtailing all questioning on the subject of Draco's epic journey towards enlightenment.

However, neither Daphne nor Draco had counted on Hermione's tenacious mind and excellent, nearly eidetic memory. After weeks of pondering, and after the Gryffindor-Slytherin match (which Slytherin actually won, thanks to a new team line-up and Draco making silly faces at Potter while diving for the Snitch – who knew that friendship was more effective than cheating?), Draco was relaxing alone in the Astronomy tower when Hermione confronted him with a very familiar book.

She sat down next to him, leaning back against the wall, and read aloud from the book.

" _The Mirror of Erised shows the viewer the deepest desire of their heart._ " She paused, and Draco felt his heart drop into his stomach, and his palms get clammy. He sat up and fixed her with a quizzical look, but she kept reading. _"The image may change over time, but is no less true than the first time the viewer stands before it."_ Draco didn't say anything. Hermione closed the book, fixed him with a look, and demanded, "Well? Did I get it right?"

"What do you expect, to get an O for nosiness?" Draco replied with a raised eyebrow, though his mind was a mess of nerves. Hermione's look softened and she smiled at him. "No, I was just…curious."

Draco shrugged, leaning back with an air of nonchalance. His heart was pounding like drum, and he wondered that Hermione couldn't hear it. "Does it change anything?"

"No," Hermione admitted, "I just wanted to understand you better. And, lo and behold, now I do. I'm proud of you," she finished, and nudged him with an elbow. "Must have been tough."

Inexplicable warmth filled Draco's chest, erasing any of the last vestiges of that old, painful knot, and he blinked in the face of her understanding. He cleared his throat to get a lump out of it and replied, "Thank you," softly, knowing that she wouldn't tell anyone about the Mirror and Draco unless he wanted her to.

Hermione smiled and leaned over, giving Draco a hug.

He buried his face in her hair, smiling even though his eyes were watering (allergies or something, must be) and felt like he'd returned to a home he didn't know he'd had.

…

After that day, nothing changed, though it felt like something had. There was a secret, now, between him and Hermione, something he felt acutely whenever he, Harry and Ron were loud and she threw them a fond, exasperated look, or when Hermione fell asleep on his shoulder (something she did with increasing frequency as the year went by). It was there in the brief moments that Hermione's eyes held his for longer than strictly necessary, lingering until one of them blinked and looked away. Draco felt like he knew what the feeling was, but he couldn't put a name to it, and it started to distract him.

After the third lost match of Wizard Chess, Ron called him out on it. "Oi, Draco. Are you going to at least _try_ to play?" he remarked irritably as he took Draco's king _again_. "You're usually more of a challenge than Harry."

"I _heard_ that," Harry called. Approaching the two of them, he settled into a chair nearby, adding, "But he's right. What's eating you lately? You're distracted. Not that I mind, as it means that we still might win the Quidditch Cup," he finished, dodging Draco's swipe.

Draco frowned, momentarily wondering at the fact that the two of them were, dare he say it, _concerned_ for him, an event that used to be equivalent in frequency to seeing pigs fly. "It's about Hermione," he offered slowly.

Ron made an "ooooooh" noise, and Harry raised an eyebrow. "Does this mean you're about to admit your undying love for her?"

Draco blinked, opened his mouth, blinked again, and raised a hand in protest. "What."

"The two of you are getting really close," Harry shrugged. "We just assumed… is that not right? Are you just friends?"

The response came unbidden to his brain – _no_. No, they weren't _just_ friends. No, the fondness he felt for Hermione was more than that of a friend warranted. However, he wasn't exactly sure how to articulate this newfound discovery, and sat there with his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish, blinking rapidly. Ron and Harry, when it became clear that Draco wasn't going to respond, high-fived, and Ron crowed, "Pay up! I _told_ you all that I was emotionally acute!"

"I like Hermione?" Draco asked, feeling a bit dazed, as Harry rummaged in his pockets with a grumble. The two of them looked at him with expressions that conveyed great pity for his slow mental state, and Ron said, "Well, of course. Don't you?"

This discovery was altogether too much for Draco's heart to handle, and he slumped on the desk in defeat, face red and eyes wide, the sound of Harry and Ron's cackling a nice backdrop to his confusion.

…

When he finally escaped from the giggling buffoons (as he _affectionately_ thought of them), Draco had some time to himself to better examine his feelings. The year so far had brought a number of unusual developments, relative to his first four years at Hogwarts – befriending the Golden Trio, spending time with them and mostly not wanting to hex them, becoming closer with his Slytherin friends… being the happiest he could remember. All of this was due, in no small part, to Hermione. Hermione, who had helped him to discover what the mirror meant, who had given him a chance, who had danced with him at the Yule Ball and encouraged the other two to give Draco the benefit of the doubt.

Did he like her? He meant, _like_ like her, not just as a friend. He wasn't sure – was it gratitude? Was it friendship? Was it something more?

Unbidden, his feet carried him to the Mirror room, and he paused with his hand on the handle, a bit uncertain. Was this the right thing to do? Should he be coming here for answers?

He shook it off. The Mirror wasn't a crutch, he told himself, just a way to ascertain what was truly in his heart. Besides, his heart's desire right now might have nothing to do with Hermione. It could be that he wanted to swim the Channel, or something of that nature, in which event he'd have to figure Hermione out for himself. Having talked himself into it, Draco took a deep breath, and swung open the door.

The Mirror greeted him, familiar and imposing as ever against the snowy backdrop of the windows, and Draco was conscious of a loudly beating heart and sweaty palms as he approached it. He paused, just out of range, then mustered his courage and stepped in front of it.

Apparently, Potter and Weasley were on to something.

Draco reached out a hand unconsciously, stretching towards the image in the mirror with longing in his heart. It was something he hadn't known he wanted, but here it was, in full colour, in front of him. He and Hermione were standing facing him, with his arms around her waist from the back, and her leaning back into his embrace, hands resting on his. Their mirror-selves looked happy, content, and when they glanced at each other in the mirror, Draco almost felt like he was intruding.

He stepped back to break the image and paused, not sure what he was feeling. His heart was a maelstrom of emotion, and he took in a couple breaths, trying to sort it out.

Draco liked Hermione.

 _Now_ what was he supposed to do?

…

His friends were as unhelpful on the subject of crushes as Harry and Ron were. Blaise just shrugged and said, "Ask her out, mate," and Theo and Daphne gave each other knowing looks and said importantly "it would happen in time." As Blaise hadn't pursued a relationship, ever, and Theo and Daphne basically got together by accident (with a little help from their friends), Draco wasn't sure how much stock he put in either of these suggestions. After all, it was his _heart's desire_ on the line! What if she said no? Or started going out with another bloke?

Draco's marks, which had been improving, flatlined as he pondered this problem. The study group often had to pull him out of reverie, and as Hermione was usually the one sitting next to him, this didn't help – whenever she touched his shoulder to bring him back into the present, he got a bad case of butterflies in his stomach.

"Are you okay, Draco?" she asked one day, concerned because he had trailed off in the middle of a sentence. "You seem distracted lately. And rather flushed," Hermione frowned, pressing a hand to his forehead to check his temperature. This, of course, made the flush worse. Harry, Ron and Blaise were killing themselves with silent laughter on the other side of the table, and Draco shot them a glare even as he leaned into the touch. "Maybe you should go to the hospital wing."

For the brightest witch of her age, she was rather dense about when someone liked her. Draco shook his head. "I'll be okay," he lied, "Just trying to work something out. Where were we?" he asked, turning back to his abandoned parchment and trying to gather the threads of his thoughts together.

…

The run-up to OWLs was rather exhausting. The Professors, who seemed to have realized that the tests were nigh, were throwing all manner of material at them. Students revised long hours into the night and woke up the next morning feeling like the living dead, only to realize that they forgot an essay and scribble it out in haste. The study group seemed to be holding up, in a manner of speaking – Harry, Ron, and Blaise procrastinated, Theo and Daphne consoled each other, and Hermione and Draco actually did some work. Hermione, though, having a ridiculous number of classes, was looking a little tired, and Draco occasionally stole her quill and made her sleep.

Draco was looking a little tired too, but it was less because of the number of courses he was taking and more because he was no closer to figuring out how to achieve the object of his heart's desire than he was successfully passing History of Magic. (He'd written History of Magic off as a loss, but he refused to do the same for his burgeoning romance). If the Mirror had shown him his heart's desire, why couldn't it show him how to get it?

Yeah… why not? Draco mused, struck with a sudden idea. The Mirror, which had guided him towards happiness in the past, could possibly show him how to achieve his heart's desire in the future. If his heart's desire was to _achieve_ his heart's desire… would it show him?

"You look more cheerful," Hermione said, nudging him with an elbow, and Draco forgot himself and beamed at her, a bit of his incredible fondness for her shining through. Hermione blinked, Theo and Daphne paused, and Draco said, "Oh, I just had a good idea."

…

It was _not_ a good idea.

He spent long nights in front of the Mirror, willing it to give up its secrets. Surely, somehow, he would feel inspired – surely, the Mirror would share its wisdom. He stared and stared until his eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head, waiting for guidance, until one morning he woke up on the floor of the classroom.

The Mirror refused to give him what he wanted. Draco tried cajoling, pleading, charming, and hexing it, to no avail. The image did not change – Hermione and his mirror-self smiled out at him, happy and in love, but he was no closer to replicating that image on this side of the mirror.

"Why won't you _show_ me?" Draco asked the mirror at 3 am, furious and eyes wet, wondering why he wasn't making any progress.

The Mirror had no answer.

…

However, Hermione did.

In his pursuit of figuring out how to obtain her affections, he'd been neglecting their friendship. Someone who was a bit less confused might have noted that this was rather counterintuitive… but Draco was just about as clueless as Hermione in the romance department.

He was heading back to his common room late one evening after an uneventful session with the Mirror, when a small, soft hand shot out from a tapestry and hauled him in. He was going to protest, but was met with the sight of Hermione, holding a piece of parchment and hands on her hips.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded, and Draco blinked.

"Are my eyes deceiving me or are you out after curfew?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes as if that would help.

"Draco," Hermione said warningly, and he opened one eye to her displeased expression. "Why are you spending time with the Mirror?"

He flushed. "I need to solve a problem. And how do you know where I was?" he exclaimed, realizing too late that he'd given himself away.

She crossed her arms. "I didn't think you were that… that… _dense_ ," she informed him, ignoring his question. "The Mirror doesn't solve problems for you."

"But it's really important!" Draco cried, voice cracking, feeling desperate. "I want… the problem… it's something I _don't want to mess up_. What if I get it wrong?"

Hermione paused, surveying him in the dim light with a curious expression on her face. Draco met her eyes, willing himself not to let any tears go. He was stressed and tired and the object of his quest was _right in front of him_ and he didn't think he could take a lecture from her now.

"Draco," she said gently, "If you get it wrong, you get it wrong. You try again. The Mirror can't solve your problems for you. Only _you_ can do that."

Draco took in a shuddering breath, feeling a bit cowed. Hermione continued. "Just because you have magic at your fingertips doesn't mean that it's going to help you get friends, have relationships, achieve your dreams. And look at how far you've come! You made friends with Harry, Ron and I without magic," she pointed out in a low voice.

"But the Mirror showed me _what_ I wanted," Draco said miserably. "Isn't that the same thing?"

Hermione sighed. "The Mirror showed you, but you were the one that decided to make a change," she said softly, stepping closer and putting a hand on his arm. "The Mirror didn't start being nicer to us, helping us out, looking out for us. _You_ did."

Draco looked down into Hermione's face, feeling something like hope thrumming under his breastbone. "You think I can do it without help?" he asked, voice low and breaking.

"I know you can," Hermione said fiercely. "Whatever it is, I know you can."

Draco hesitated, and then grabbed Hermione in a hug, pressing his face to the top of her head. She let him, wrapping her arms around his middle and humming a soothing tune, and Draco felt his shoulders relax, stress bleeding away.

They stood like that for a long time.

...

He didn't return to the Mirror that year, but neither did his wooing of Hermione progress much, as the OWLs were then upon them. They finished exams one day and revised for the next in the evening, stressed beyond belief. The only people in the castle who looked more zombified were the NEWT students.

And then, that was it- their year was done, the students packing to head home, tired but feeling rather more carefree. Draco hauled his trunk into their compartment, settling down next to Hermione, and leaned companionably on her shoulder, watching as Theo pulled Daphne onto his lap and Harry, Ron, and Blaise conferred in low voices.

"Did you find what you were looking for this year?" Hermione asked, sleepily, leaning against the window and watching the fields go by in reverse. Draco considered, and then smiled lightly, looking down at her with a fond expression that she didn't see.

"Almost," Draco said, "Next year. Promise."

Hermione turned back to look up at him, smiling encouragingly, and Draco returned the look, not breaking his gaze until Harry threw a chocolate frog at his head.

Ah, friends.

…

Arriving at the school the next year was even better than the last – the seven of them found a compartment right away, and spent the ride catching up, hugging each other, and teasing Daphne and Theo whenever they stole a kiss. Hermione was as radiant as ever, and Draco found himself drawn by her sparkling eyes and wavy hair. Apparently, absence made the heart grow fonder, and Draco resisted the urge to run his hands through her hair and kiss her senseless. This was mainly because the other individuals in their compartment would tease him relentlessly.

Speaking of his friends, Harry and Ron seemed gratifyingly pleased to see him, too, though they'd all met up in Diagon Alley to get supplies earlier in the summer. Not a trace of their derision for him (or his for them) remained, except in the way that they each declared that their Houses would win the Quidditch cup and tussled over pumpkin pasties. And that, really, was just natural. With Draco as the Slytherin Captain this year, he was positive that he could pull together a team to knock Gryffindor out of the sky.

With these happy thoughts and an excellent start-of-term feast, Draco felt confident about the year, and more than ready to put his Plan to Woo Hermione into place.

…

Unfortunately for him, his Plan was curtailed by the horrifying realization that NEWT level classes were harder than OWL level classes. They had spare time, sure… to study. Thus, all Draco could do was be lightly flirtatious in study group, and make sure that he hugged Hermione, gave lingering touches, and paid attention to her as much as he could between essays.

The rest of the group pulled him aside, individually and in groups, to tell him to just go for it, because the tension was killing them. Draco merely shrugged and raised an eyebrow, holding up his Potions essay to show that he wasn't idling the time away, thank you, nor was he _stalling_ thank you very much Potter – he was _busy_.

It didn't occur to him that he might be putting it off until, one day, Snape told him that it was time for his career discussion with his Head of House. Following the professor to his office willingly, Draco was startled to discover that Snape had no intention of discussing his career.

"You need to get around to asking Miss Granger out," Snape informed Draco, who wondered if he'd been transported to an alternate dimension.

"Sir?" he asked, examining Snape carefully. "Are you okay?"

Snape waved this aside with a long-fingered hand. "I'm serious, Mr. Malfoy. We both know that you're ambitious _and_ driven, and your choice career won't matter – you will succeed, I am sure." Draco blinked at the compliment, giving Snape a thankful nod as the older man continued to speak. "What you _do_ need help with is Miss Granger. Trust me when I say that you will regret it if you don't do something soon," Snape informed him, black eyes unreadable. Draco wondered if he was speaking from experience.

"But, sir," Draco said carefully, "I don't know what…"

"Just show her that you care," Snape said, in the gentlest tone of voice Draco had ever heard him use. "That will be enough."

There was silence for a while, each Slytherin lost in his own thoughts, before Snape shook it off, drawing himself up to his full height. "Besides," he informed Draco, showing him the door, "I have 5 Galleons on you asking her out before the end of the year, so please, get a move on."

The door was closed behind a thoroughly stunned Draco, whose feet took him unbidden to the hospital wing – perhaps _he_ was hallucinating.

He wasn't, though after he stuttered out 'Snape- talked about _feelings-"_ Madam Pomfrey gave him a tonic for stress, perhaps thinking that he'd imagined things and was overworking himself. Draco swallowed the bitter potion down, turning the conversation over in his head and wondering if, perhaps, Snape was right.

…

Coincidentally, he managed to find Hermione in the library on her own within the next couple of weeks. He paused in the stacks behind her, heart racing, wondering if he should do something, say something? Draco was uncertain. He knew what he wanted, now, and he knew that he would have to confess sooner or later, but… he was nervous.

"Draco, if you were going to surprise me, you should have done it ten minutes ago," Hermione called with amusement, and Draco jumped a little, hearing the echo of the past in her words.

"Who, me?" he joked, sliding out from the shelves and setting his bag on the table. He didn't sit down, though, preferring to stand, mind blank and heart racing. What did you _say_ to your heart's desire?

"Yes, you," Hermione returned, eyes twinkling up at him that told Draco that she, too, had noticed the familiar dialogue. "What did you need, Draco?" she asked, kindly, putting down her quill and looking up at him attentively, _fondly_ even.

"You," he replied without thinking, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. Hermione's mouth dropped open, but Draco kept going – there was no turning back now. "I need you. I need – I need your smile, and the way you play with your quills, and your kindness, and your strength. Hermione," Draco said, breaking off and looking at her reddening face beseechingly.

"Draco," she breathed, leaning towards him, eyes shining.

"Hermione, I –"

"I know," Hermione said, and then her hand was fisted in the front of his shirt, pulling him down towards her, and she was kissing him, and Draco stopped thinking and his hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head up, deepening the kiss.

When they pulled apart, both of them were bright red, and Draco felt as though he'd been struck by lightning. Hermione laughed, a bit embarrassed, at his expression, then squeaked as he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a hug.

"Hermione," he said, hoping to convey what he felt in that one word, that one _very_ important word, and she giggled into his shoulder.

"Draco," she replied, and he understood.

…

 **Epilogue**

Draco stood outside the Mirror room, on the eve of his graduation, hand resting on the door. It had been a long journey, these last seven years, and somehow his feet had brought him back to where it had all began, where he'd learned about himself and decided to become a person that he could be proud of. The wood was smooth and warm under his palm, and he considered it carefully, spreading his fingers against the wood and letting out an unconscious sigh.

Tomorrow, they would say goodbye to Hogwarts forever, and then it was out in the world. A new set of goals, dreams, and wishes – a new life. Draco turned the doorknob, opening the door, and spotted the Mirror winking at him in the distance. He could step forward, right now – discover what the next thing in life he wanted was – be prepared for the future. He'd know, perhaps, what career to pursue, or how to improve his relationship with his parents, or if he should, in a year or two, propose to Hermione.

He paused.

But then, Draco thought, tilting his head at the shining object, he _knew_ what he wanted. There was the answer, right in his own mind – and he was sure that, as Hermione had once said, the solution lay in his own mind and heart as well.

Draco closed the door. The sound of the lock closing was almost dizzying in its implications, and he stood there for a moment, savoring it, hand lingering on the doorknob. If he wanted, he could open the door again, and step inside.

He smiled, turned on his heels, and went to meet Hermione.

...

 **A/N:**

 **Well, apparently my version of 'a couple days' is about a week. Sigh. I'm sorry for the delay, it was** _ **not**_ **intended, but classes started and I discovered that my grasp on my to-do list was sketchier than intended.**

 **But here it is! I hope that you enjoyed it as much, or more, as the first part.**

 **Review, like, send me a message – and thank you, again, for reading!**

 **Isefyr**


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